


we live through scars this time

by RainbowRandomness



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Coldflash Big Bang 2016, First Kiss, Ice, Kissing, Lichtenberg Figures, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t realise he’s reached out at first until his fingertips touch the skin at Barry’s spine, causing the kid to shiver under his touch. He hesitates for a moment before beginning to trace the lines, moving his fingers along each new scar with a feather light touch, as if he isn’t touching Barry at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we live through scars this time

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of Barry having lightning scars (or Lichtenberg figures) up his back cause, as far as I'm aware, the majority of people struck by lightning directly, or who are standing nearby a spot where lightning strikes, gets scarred by it, since the electrical charge of the lightning travels along the ground and up the person. I mean, Barry doesn't scar from anything in the show so I thought it'd be cool for him to have a scar from the lightning strike, before his super healing factor kicked in.
> 
> shoutout to my beta [castawayforeverisland](http://castawayforeverisland.tumblr.com/) and to the mod at [coldflashbigbang](http://coldflashbigbang.tumblr.com/) for setting this whole thing up.
> 
> also shoutout to [kesomon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kesomon/pseuds/kesomon), their fic _[Scars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5368298)_ helped inspire this fic, go check it out, I really love it.
> 
> this is my first coldflash fic so bear with me if it's not the best. I hope you all enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Title from _Scars_ by James Bay

Looking after the Flash was not how Leonard thought he would be spending his afternoon.

If he was honest with himself (which he tries not to be, for his own sanities sake) it was his fault in the first place. He had been pulling a heist when the Flash showed up to stop him, as per usual, and everything was going swimmingly until Barry seemed to trip over his own two feet and miss the moment Len fired his coldgun. From there it had almost been a blur as the ice blast headed straight for Barry and hit him in his stomach, propelling his body backwards until he skidded along the asphalt and landed in a heap of limbs, his back to Snart and his body motionless.

At first Len had thought Barry was attempting to trick him, hoping that by playing dead Len would simply walk over and allow Barry to catch him off guard. He’d scoffed as the kid had lain there, had called out, “That all you got, Flash?” as he waited for the kid to get back up and continue their fight.

But when Barry hadn’t stirred, not even when Len began to walk over to where his body was crumpled in a heap on the floor, Len knew that the kid wasn’t messing around.  He had knelt beside him and reached out to shake his shoulder, murmuring, “Scarlet? Barry?” in the hopes that calling the kids name might revive him. When Barry still didn’t stir, Len rolled him over so that he was lying on his back and then pulled off one of his gloves so he could press his fingers against Barry’s throat, checking for a pulse.

He was still alive, much to Len’s relief, heartbeat thrumming quickly beneath his skin, but he was definitely unconscious and his skin was growing cold. Glancing down Len could see the blast from his coldgun encasing Barry’s stomach, the ice emitting a frigid chill that made even Len shiver when he brushed his gloved hand across the thick ice. He could only imagine what it felt like encasing Barry’s body, even with the suit protecting his skin.

Len leaned back on his haunches and pondered his next move. He could hear sirens in the distance growing closer, and with Barry unconscious on the ground, it wasn’t as though the kid could defend himself against the police. The last thing Len needed was Barry’s identity being revealed; if everyone found out who the Flash really was, then he had no blackmail material and their truce was as good as over. He didn’t particularly want Barry throwing him into jail every time Len attempted a heist.

In the end Len had sighed before leaning down to scoop the speedster up into his arms. It wasn’t like Barry was going to be able to protect himself, so really, the job had fallen on Len to get his and the speedsters backsides safely out of there before the cops showed up.

And that’s how Len ended up taking care of the Flash for the night. Considering he had safe houses dotted across the city, it didn’t take long before Len was kicking in the door of one of them so he could drag the Flash inside, hoping that no one had noticed them as Len ran along the backstreets and through alleyways to reach here. He didn’t particularly want the cops knocking on his door wondering why Captain Cold had kidnapped the Flash.

When he had managed to get himself and Barry through the door, he kicked it shut with his foot and readjusted his grip on Barry’s limp body, grunting with the exertion as he began to make his way through the safe house in search of a useable bed. It didn’t take him long to locate one and he quickly placed Barry down upon the mattress, worry creasing his brow as Barry shivered. He had started shivering during the time that Len was carrying him to the safe house, and Len was beginning to wonder if the cold blast that had hit him was helping to keep him unconscious. 

He didn’t want to risk anything; Len reached forward and pushed the cowl off Barry’s head, revealing his face and his ruffled brown hair, the strands sticking up in puffy tufts. His brow was creased and his lips twisted into a grimace as he shivered again before he settled back against the mattress, his face smoothing over again. Len watched him for a moment before he finally reached down to unzip the suit, taking the zipper down as far as it could go before he began to manoeuvre Barry’s limp body to remove the skin tight suit.

It was easier said than done; Barry was heavier than he looked, as Len had discovered while carrying him, and it left Len feeling somewhat out of breath by the time he managed to remove Barry’s arms from within his suits sleeves.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with Barry’s limp frame leaning against his chest, and Len took a moment to catch his breath before tucking his hands beneath Barry’s back so he could extract the suit material from his torso and allow it to fall to the bed beneath them.

Except when his bare hands touched the skin of Barry’s back he paused, his fingers pressing against the warm skin to reaffirm what he had just felt. When he could still feel the raised skin beneath his fingertips, he paused before slowly tracing his fingers along the jagged scars, one hand travelling up while the other travelled down along Barry’s back, feeling the intricate marks that marred the speedsters skin.

After a moment of this Len finally pushed the material of the suit away, letting it fall to the mattress before he shifted Barry’s weight against him so he could peer round and look at Barry’s back. He found himself breathing in sharply at the sight of the various jagged scars that were littered across Barry’s skin, each line connected as it began at the top of Barry’s neck and then made its way down until it stopped at the dip of his lower back. The scars themselves were white and raised, some of the scar tissue appearing silver beneath the light filtering in through the curtainless window.

Len found himself reaching out again to trace his fingertips along the edges of each sharp line, only stopping when Barry shivered against him. He peered at what he could see of the side of the kids’ face where it was tucked into the side of Len’s neck, and seeing that Barry’s eyes were still closed, he assumed he was still unconscious. He removed his hand anyway and gently laid Barry back against the mattress.

The majority of the ice had begun to melt by this point, creating a small pool of water on Barry’s suit that dripped down his sides and onto the mattress. Len made quick work of removing Barry’s boots and then the rest of his suit, leaving him lying against the bed in only his underwear. Len ignored this as he folded the suit, leaving it at the end of the bed for the kid to find when he woke up. In the meantime, he left the room and went in search of any spare clothes that may have been lying around in the other rooms in the safe house.

❄ ❄ ❄

After a while of searching, Len managed to scrounge up some of his clothes that he had stashed here on a previous visit, finding them hiding in a duffel bag under a bed in another room. There were a few assorted clothes in the bag but he dressed Barry in his most comfortable ones; a black shirt that hung off Barry’s lithe frame and a pair of grey sweatpants that Len had to tie extra tightly to ensure they didn’t try and slide off the kids hips.

Once he had dressed the kid, he waited, leaving Barry to rest while he went off in search of food. Considering how much energy the kid used, Len wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up hungry, so he scoured the kitchen and pantry for any signs of food. Thankfully someone (possibly Lisa; he was sure he had asked her to buy some food to stock up a few of the safe houses and he was grateful this was one of them) had restocked the cupboards, even if it was only some crisps, biscuits, and a few assorted items of bread and spreads. Anything would do.

Len had just begun to make a sandwich when he heard someone shuffle into the room, the old floorboards creaking beneath their bare feet.

“Evening Scarlet,” Len said, his back to Barry where he was standing at the kitchen counter. He glanced over his shoulder to see the speedster leaning in the doorway that separate the main living area from the bedroom, the black material of Len’s shirt attempting to slide off of Barry’s shoulders as he leaned against the frame. He looked tired, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his hazel eyes, and instead of looking his usual energized and authoritative self, he looked exhausted and worn down.

“Snart,” came Barry’s reply. He didn’t attempt to move from the threshold that separated the two rooms and Len continued to make a stack of sandwiches, using up the majority of the bread as he did so. He even sliced them diagonally so they split into triangle halves, and he placed each new slice onto one of the only clean plates he could find.

He could feel Barry’s eyes on his back as he prepared the food, wary and curious. A part of him hoped that there was an ounce of mistrust in Barry’s gaze, but turning around to face the kid he wasn’t entirely surprised to find there wasn’t any. He squashed the feeling of relief that bloomed at that knowledge.

“I’m guessing you’re hungry,” he said as a way to reopen the conversation. He tilted his head towards the plate of sandwiches and the bag of crisps and packet of biscuits he had laid out on the kitchen’s counter, and Barry’s eyes shifted to the food, his body shifting slightly as he leaned forward. His stomach growled and his face twisted in embarrassment because of it.

“C’mon Scarlet, I made you all these sandwiches. Least you can do is eat them,” he said, and picked up the plate and other packets of food to bring them over to beaten up green coach and the coffee table that had seen better days.

He placed the food onto the coffee table, mindful of the way it wobbled slightly at the applied pressure, and then seated himself down on the sofa, leaning back into the corner and propping his elbow on the arm. He placed his cheek against his closed fist and waited until, at last, Barry made his way into the room and over to the sofa, ungracefully plopping himself down onto the other end.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, reaching forward to snag one of the sandwiches off the pile. He began to eat and Len watched him from his peripheral, unable to help the thought of how adorable Barry looked wearing his clothes, too big on his smaller frame, cross his mind. He was tucked into himself, legs bent up to his chest and his bare feet hidden within Len’s baggy sweats, hiding them from view.

Barry must have noticed him staring because he glanced back up towards Len as he swallowed the bite he had just taken. A few crumbs were stuck to his bottom lip and he sucked it into his mouth to retrieve them, his plump lip popping out from between his teeth a moment later.

“So,” Len began, shifting slightly to resettle himself more comfortably, “any reason you passed out back there? Got a feeling it wasn’t just because I managed to hit you.”

Barry took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly for a moment so he could avoid replying. He seemed to be thinking of a response and Len watched him, patiently waiting for his response.

“I hadn’t eaten all day,” Barry says, taking another bite and swallowing it quickly, “My metabolism’s faster than others and using my speed uses up a lot of my energy, so I need to eat regularly to stop me from passing out every other minute.”

He takes another bite, finishing the sandwich. “I was late to work, didn’t have time to grab something to eat,” he continues around his mouthful, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, “too much work on my desk to be able to get lunch, and by the time I finished I got a call that you were trying to rob someone.”

Hazel eyes flick up to catch Len’s steady gaze, his eyebrow quirking at that last part. Len refuses to claim responsibility for Barry’s inability to keep himself fed and simply raises his own eyebrow in turn. Barry’s eyes roll heavenwards for a moment before he grabs for another sandwich.

Len continues to watch Barry as he eats, allowing the blanket of silence to fall over them for a moment. But there’s a question niggling at the back of his mind that he can’t seem to squander, so once Barry has finished his third sandwich and reaches for his fourth, Len decides it’s finally time to ask.

“Why do you have so many scars across your skin, Barry?” he asks, watching as Barry glances up at him in confusion and then dawning realisation. He swallows around the bite he’s just taken and then bites at his lip, brow furrowing.

“You mean the scars on my back?” he questions, his head cocking to the side. Len nods his head and watches as Barry places the half eaten sandwich back onto the plate and then sits up, straightening his shoulders.

“I got them from before,” Barry begins, and for a moment Len freezes, blood running cold within his veins. He knows that Barry’s healing capabilities are beyond average, knows that the kid can bounce back from whatever you can throw at him, be it a bullet or a blast from Snart’s own coldgun. He dreads to think what ‘before’ could mean but he tries not to react as those thoughts race through his head, waiting for Barry to clarify.

Barry huffs, oblivious to Snart’s inner conflict as he continues, “The night the particle accelerator exploded was also the night I got struck by lightning. Figures, really; it was just my luck.”

He has this bemused smile tweaking his lips and Len relaxes in his seat at the confession. He shifts until he’s sat up fully and leans forward until his elbows are braced on his knees, his right hand coming up to cup his chin as he watches Barry, who’s staring ahead of him. He glances towards Snart out of the corner of his eyes and gives him a small smile.

“I’m not... ashamed, of the scars. I mean, maybe I’m a little self conscious of them, they’re literally running down my back like a giant lightning bolt, but— I mean, I don’t know, they’re just... there.”

He finishes his sentence with a sigh, looking ahead of himself again. His brow is furrowed and Len can’t really tell what he’s thinking, but a part of him wonders if he’s thinking back to the night he was struck by lightning. It makes sense he’d have a scar from that night, a physical reminder (aside from the gained superpowers) of what happened the night the particle accelerator exploded.

Len’s not entirely sure what makes him ask, but the words leave his mouth before he can stop to think of the repercussions of asking.

“Can I see them?”

Barry turns to look at him, quizzical expression gracing his face and Len shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I saw them when I changed you out of your suit,” he says, and if he’s not mistaken he can see some colour rise in Barry’s cheeks at the remark, “but I didn’t get a clear view of them.”

Barry doesn’t reply straight away, and as the silence stretches, Len begins to believe that Barry is so self conscious of the scars that he won’t show them again. The only reason he even found out about them in the first place was because Barry was unconscious at the time, and Len resigns himself to the fact that may be the only time he sees the scars again.

It’s not like he’d exactly want his own scars to be shown on display either, so really, he understands, but then Barry turns to face away from Len on the couch and he reaches back to pull his shirt up, bunching the fabric up in his hands to reveal the expanse of his back.

There’s a moment where Len’s breath hitches sharply at the sight, his view of them clearer now that Barry isn’t leaning against him while Len tries to look around him at the scars. He can see more clearly now how intricate the scars really are, how they branch out like tree roots from Barry’s neck and down to the dimples that rest at his lower back above the waistline of the sweatpants. Whereas before he could only see the raised white scar tissue, now he can see how some of the scars bleed into faint pink lines, a mixture of white, pink, and silver tangled together in the jagged marks.

He doesn’t realise he’s reached out at first until his fingertips touch the skin at Barry’s spine, causing the kid to shiver under his touch. He hesitates for a moment before beginning to trace the lines, moving his fingers along each new scar with a feather light touch, as if he isn’t touching Barry at all.

Despite the raised scars, the skin beneath them is soft and smooth, pale and only blemished with various splattering of moles that Len counts as he follows the movement of his fingers across Barry’s skin. He thinks about how the scars appear almost similar to frost across a windowsill in winter, as if Barry had frostbite climbing along his skin.

For a moment he thinks about how fitting it is, for Barry to be struck by lightning and to have the mark decorated across his skin. How fitting it is that when Captain Cold gazes at the marks, he can’t help but see the similarities to the blemish of frostbite, as if both he and Barry’s personas are tangled together like a brand upon his skin.

“Lichtenberg,” he murmurs absentmindedly, Barry’s breath hitching as he shivers again.

“What?”

“Lichtenberg figure,” Len repeats, his fingers dancing along the white lines until his fingers reach one of the dimples at Barry’s lower back. He presses his thumb into the crescent shaped mark and hears Barry’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hmm,” Barry hums in reply, his head lolling back for a moment as Len’s fingers begin to travel back up his back, skimming across his spine and dancing out to trace along the patterned scars, “Named after the guy who discovered them. Studied the electrical charges trying to work out how—”

He’s cut off before he can finished his sentence when Len places his hand at the top of Barry’s back and splays his fingers out. Barry seems to shudder and then turns in his seat so he’s facing Len, whose hand drops away as Barry turns. His eyes are weary as he watches Barry, his face neutral so as not to give away the spark of worry that passes through him when he thinks he may have overstepped his boundaries.

But then Barry is looking at him with curiosity dancing in his eyes, irises a mixture of colours Len can’t begin to name, a ring of green mixed with hazelnut brown, flecks of gold framing his pupils, but none of it matters when Barry leans towards him and presses his soft lips to his.

If anyone asked, Len was sure he would deny it, but when Barry kisses him his breath hitches, mouth parting and eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Barry’s soft, plump lips on his. He reaches up to steady Barry as he continues to lean forward, his hands gripping Barry’s biceps to stop him from falling forward. Barry doesn’t seem to care, simply adjusts himself in his seat until he’s crawling towards him, never breaking the kiss for a moment as he comes closer into Len’s space, practically pressing him down into the sofa cushions.

He leans backwards to accommodate and nearly sighs breathlessly into their kiss when Barry’s chest presses against his, his weight a warm comfort along Len’s body. When he moves his hands to run them up along Barry’s sides he can feel where the shirt is still bunched up together, resting at Barry’s lower back, and he presses his hands up beneath the material until his fingertips are tracing back along the jagged scars. Barry gasps into his mouth, pulling away for a moment as he looks down at Len and Len opens his eyes to return the gaze.

They’re so close that Barry’s nose brushes his where he’s leaning over him, bodies still flushed together where they’re both laying sprawled across the sofa. His chest presses against Len’s as he tries to even out his breathing and Len relaxes back into the sofa, feeling almost content to gaze up into Barry’s eyes for as long as he’s allowed, counting the variety of colours that mix together to form the colour of his irises.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Barry says, and Len’s hand pauses where it was brushing idly up and down a small expanse of Barry’s back. He tries not to let his throat close and his gaze harden at the words and waits for the kid to continue to talk.

“I feel like I just—forced myself on you,” he clarifies, his already flushed cheeks darkening with what Len assumes is embarrassment or possibly shame, “I just—the way you were touching me, I—I just—”

Len cuts him off by leaning up the few extra inches between them and presses his mouth back against Barry’s, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and capturing it between his teeth. He nibbles lightly at the plump lip and Barry’s eyes flutter closed as a small moan vibrates in his throat. He rests his forehead against Len’s and presses forward to kiss him properly, tongue darting out to lick across Len’s lower lip when he releases Barry’s from between his teeth.

When Barry pulls away again, Len let’s him go and leans back against the sofa. His head is propped up on the armrest and he gazes up at Barry through hooded eyes, his hand resuming its idle brush along Barry’s skin and scars.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t—maybe you didn’t mind that I kissed you?” Barry says, his reddened lips twitching up into a smile. Len quirks an eyebrow at him as if to say _‘do you really need to ask?’_ and Barry’s smile only widens.

It’s then that his stomach growls and Barry’s cheeks flush before he groans, moving to bury his face into the crook of Len’s neck. There’s a moment where he stiffens at the touch but then relaxes again, smiling to himself when he can hear Barry mumbling, “ _Stupid stomach_ ,” into his skin.

“Still hungry, Scarlet?” Len asks, unable to keep the smirk out of his voice. Barry mumbles something into his neck and then raises his head to meet Leonard’s gaze, wrinkling his nose when his stomach growls again.

“I haven’t eaten a lot today,” he reminds Len, who only smirks in reply. Barry leans down to press a chaste kiss to his smiling mouth before he moves to sit up again. Len let’s him go, his hands slipping out from beneath Barry’s shirt until they rest on his hips.

Barry reaches over towards the coffee table to retrieve the sandwich he hadn’t finished before. As he bites into the bread and peanut butter, he nods his head in the direction of the (somewhat old) TV that’s sat not too far away from the beat up couch.

“That thing actually work?” Barry questions around his mouthful, a few stray crumbs spilling past his lips. Leonard sits up and kisses the crumbs from Barry’s lips, smirking when Barry flails at the unexpected kiss.

“Let’s find out,” he says, reaching for one of the remotes sat atop the coffee table and turning on the telly. As he settles back into the sofa, a small smile graces his lips as Barry tucks himself into Len’s side, getting comfortable and resting his head against Len’s shoulder.

“Thanks for not making me feel weird about the scars,” Barry murmurs, not looking at Len.

He glances down at the scarlet speedster tucked into his side, his warmth radiating through to his skin.

“Anytime Scarlet.”

**Author's Note:**

> never signed up for a big bang challenge before so this was interesting haha. I'm glad I actually managed to write something for it because I was having some crisis of confidence with my writing and rewrote this thing so many times before I produced this. it's been a whirlwind.
> 
> again, thank you to my beta [castawayforeverisland](http://castawayforeverisland.tumblr.com/) and to the mod at [coldflashbigbang](http://coldflashbigbang.tumblr.com/), you're both awesome
> 
> come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RainbowRandoms) and [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site.


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